


Out In the Cold

by LibraOnFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Hand Job, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraOnFire/pseuds/LibraOnFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a one-shot of Sam and Dean on a deserted sidewalk somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out In the Cold

In the few breathless moments that he can think, Sam finds it ironic that although he's the taller of the two, he's the one with his back pressed against the post of a burnt out street light in the middle of the night. The chill of the metal barely permeates his jacket because Dean's got one hand flat against the small of Sam's back, pushing Sam closer against his brother, sending fire through his skin. Not that there's much on him that's small, he thinks. Then Sam doesn't get much time to think anything too coherent, because Dean's other hand is down the front of Sam's jeans, furiously attempting to pump out all of Sam's dignity through his cock, and that's plenty warm.

Sam reclaims his balance by shoving his hands under the hem of Dean's shirt, lets them slide on a familiar path across his brother's skin. He spreads his legs so Dean can slither right up against his hip, sucks in half a lungful of cool night air and shudders when he feels the solid heat of his brother grinding against him in time with those dizzying strokes. He can barely manage a broken, “Dean,” before he's already there, leaning up to lick the sound out of Sam's mouth, scrubbing it back into every taste bud on Sam's tongue. 

Dean doesn't seem to wanna take a break from sucking the taste right out of his little brother's mouth, so Sam squeezes Dean's hips, hard. “Air!” he rejoices and laments at once as Dean swipes his tongue across Sam's lower lip in retreat. Dean looks down, watching himself take his brother apart with just his touch. He pants, licks his lips as he looks up at Sam. He's pale in the cold shadows, the next street light down the sidewalk barely ghosting across the bridge of his nose, catching only slightly on the wet of his mouth. 

“Gotta come for me, Sammy,” he whispers roughly, breath puffing out in white clouds between their mouths. It's not a request. It's nowhere near a plea. 

It never is. 

The muscles of Sam's neck twinge as he resists the urge to let his head fall back as the supernova builds, keeps his eyes narrowed on the shadowy area where they're connected; he can feel the denim rasping rhythm of Dean's thighs against his as he unconsciously mimics the frantic roll of Sam's hips. He can hear Dean gritting his teeth around a groan as Sam finally comes, hips jerking gracelessly, wet heat flooding his brother's palm. 

He's curled in on himself, legs shaking and breathless as Dean's calloused palm coaxes the last of his climax out of him. Dean smooths his other hand down past Sam's waistband to squeeze a firm ass cheek and he leans up to press a chaste kiss to the shell of Sam's ear. 

“That's my boy.”


End file.
